Stage Fright
by x. Chaotic Bisexual Hottie .x
Summary: It's a big day for Stark Expo '38. It is just beginning and William Stark-Potts, prodigal son of the prodigal son, is the introductory speaker. He is shivering in his shoes at the thought of going on stage.


_Tony and Pepper have two children: Morgan Helena Stark-Potts (b. Dec, 2018) and William James Stark-Potts (b. August, 2020). Eighteen years later, their children have graduated and now work to change the world._

* * *

Will peeked through the curtains and immediately regretted this and all other life decisions made. A jolt ran through him, leaving his stomach in a much worse state of seizing than before. From his fingers to his toes, he quaked. Through the legs of stage, he saw the whole stadium; all types of skin tones blended into a sea of beige. The beige ocean was dotted with flecks of phone light, turning the mass into a starry sky scene instead. But instead of being comforted, like he would have if he were stargazing in his backyard, his breath caught in his chest and he stumbled backwards into a wall. His back flattened against it. He gulped down a squeak.

What if he backed down now? _I mean, they could still salvage the Expo_, he considered, logistics running through his head. _They'd throw Dad up there and tell him to fill Will's time slot, he'll be a natural_. As always. It was no secret that Tony Stark was a master at both improvisation and commandeering a crowd. Even his sister had more way with people then her little, aspiring brother.

Will leaned forward to get his back off the wall, but his right hand stayed attached as if letting go meant collapsing into the void. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a familiar form framed by the offstage door. She appeared to be talking to someone out of Will's point of view. She clutched a clipboard in her hand, and Will noticed her ear facing him was covered by a headset.

"Morgan!" hissed Will. When that failed to capture her attention, he tried again with more insistence (yet still quiet enough that it wouldn't leak to the audience), _"Morgan!"_

She jerked her head his way. The brief flash of her eyes was all Will needed to know that she understood. She dismissed herself from whoever it was she was talking to and came over. Will noticed now the clipboard she was hugging to her chest.

"You're in charge of–," he started.

"You, mostly," she didn't let him finish.

"Oh, good. I thought I was going solo on this one," he said. He concealed his sarcasm with a exhale and a simple-toned execution of his answer.

"Well, you are," Morgan replied, knocking down any walls he made with those three truthful words. "But don't let that stop you."

"Did you feel this balloon right here– right where the heart, wait, that's the sternum, right where this is, –" he gestured with his hand to the centre of his chest, "– when you had that thing? That little, tiny, speech thing." He paused but in his sister's silence, he itched to continue speaking until satisfaction. "The one at Stanford."

Morgan crossed her arms over her clipboard. "Little, tiny speech at Stanford?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you mean my _valedictorian_?_"_

Will nodded, curling his lips in between his front teeth. "Pretty sure that's what I described. Yup."

"'Little'?"

He shrugged.

Morgan took one hand off the clipboard and punched him in the shoulder.

"Ow!" he yelped. "Okay, okay! Not _that_ little! Jeeeez, don't need to punch me for it..."

Morgan rolled her eyes at his dramatics. "God, _Will_. Oh, my god. How _thick_ do you have to be?"

"Yeah, not helping."

"And, by the way, that punch was for being a dummy, you big dummy."

"Okay, seriously! You're not helping!" Will's patience was running thin. While it was true that Morgan always likes taking her time to get to the point – Will was the ball of unstoppable energy, unsatisfied until he spit out all his thoughts and plans – now wasn't the time for infuriating games. The Expo was on a schedule, meaning will was on a schedule, meaning there was only a set amount of minutes left in which Morgan could ease his mind. So far, she had punched him and called him a dummy. _Not a good start, there, sister_...

"I fit in the family a little better, sure, but how again is this helping?"

"Who are you calling a dummy, dummy?" Morgan demanded (although her glare was nothing if not playful).

"DUM-E. Duh."

"Nice save," she said, unconvinced. "But you're still a dummy, Dummy."

"You really like saying that."

She shrugged.

"Okay, but why do _I_ have to be the dummy?"

"Because, right now, you're thinking about botching this whole ordeal. You're thinking about getting Dad to fill your slot, covering for you, and thinking about how you can't do it."

While staring ahead, he wrinkled his nose and glanced indignantly at Morgan. "How do you know what I'm thinking?"

"Cut the snark for a few minutes, maybe?" And her tone made William reconsider his continued used of jest. "I'm actually being serious for once."

Will made a face and muttered, "'For once'."

"Stop."

He did.

"I know you, Will. I grew up with you; I barely even remember a time when you _weren_'t around. So, I know how you think. Big sister advantages." He nodded. "Help me out: What's Dad always telling us?"

He scrunched his eyebrows. "Um. That cheesburgers rule?"

She shook her head.

"That 'War Machine' is so much better than 'Iron Patriot'?"

"Ha ha," Morgan mocked. "Think, brother dear."

Will pulled his shoulders up to his ears and attempted to make himself look smaller. _I don't know!_ his eyes screamed, but his mouth would not say those words.

"Every kid has to fly the coup and make it on their own one day. Kids are the ones who take over for their parents and chip away at the unknown future, one chisel at a time." She paused. "We are the future."

Everything she had said made sense, but the last line rung in his head like a clock tower, striking the exact chord which will resonate with all the townspeople for the rest of the day. He did remember Tony saying that, but like all kids, his mind jumped straight to the next topic – something not as deep, something immediate and distracting from everything a heavy saying like that could imply.

"Isn't it 'fly the nest'?" he asked. He earned a blank, blinking stare of an unimpressed twenty-year-old. "'Fly the nest' or 'leave the coup', but it's not 'fly the coup'."

Morgan remained in her unimpressed silence.

"I vote 'fly the nest'."

"Don't hurt yourself. It's 'flew the coup'. I just made it present-tense."

"Innovation. Wow, practice what you preach."

"Take the sarcasm to the backseat, Will," insisted his sister. "We only have two minutes left."

_TWO MINUTES!_ his brain screamed. He wasn't ready. He couldn't remember his words. Electricity circled his brain like a frantic wasp. A buzz here, a buzz there, suddenly there were buzzes everywhere and his nerve synapses fried. _Shitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshit_–

"Shit!" His eyes flooded, but rapid blinking seemed to keep the river at bay.

"Language!" Morgan was quick to reply. "Does Mom know you stole her word?"

Her laugh filled Will with all sorts of feelings. Her worry-free, confident, loving jingle of a voice gave Will a little peace of mind. For the first time that night, he wrangled the butterflies in his stomach and prepared to use them as fuel. All it was was excitement. _All it will do is help, _he realised. He voiced it clearly as if a verbal reminder would magically click everything into place; "I can do this. I _can_ do this. I can _do_ this."

"Hell yeah, you can!"

"Now who needs to watch their language?"

"Hell's a place, not a bad word," said Morgan without skipping a beat.

Will stepped towards the stage legs, forcing his head to look straight ahead instead of through the curtains at the crowd. In response to his involuntary shaking, he forced his hands and feet to shake. Sweat caked the creases of his palms, still, so he wiped it on his jeans. His fingers danced up to his plain black blazer and did the buttons.

"Shirt tucked in?"

Will regarded Morgan the same way he had looked at Mom before he left the house. "Yes," he indulged.

"Your hair's fine," she mumbled as she walked around him and parked herself in front. She looked up at him. One year ago, they were the same height, but since then, Will had surpassed her by one inch. She acted unbothered by it, but Will often teased her about it. As she tried to pat down a few rowdy strands of hair of his, he shifted his weight onto his toes and lifted his heels in the air. She retracted her hand. "Fine, if you want flyaways..."

"It's _fine_."

"Your headset– god, Will!" Morgan moved to the set up table. She surveyed the limited choices; most of the headsets, mics, and other electronic necessities for a smooth-sailing show before reaching out towards something in the far corner. In the darkness, Will barely made out the shape. Soon enough, he needn't have struggled to see for his sister came back, spun him around to face her and the offstage wall, and settled a thin, black, wire headband on his head and positioned the fuzzy bob at the end in front of his mouth. She reached behind the one headphone and pressed the button. A blue light turned on, meaning two things: he was on, he was connected.

"Where's your head, sometimes?"

"You sound like Mom."

"Thanks. One of us has to be the sensible one."

"Hey!"

"Save it for later. Dad's on."

She spun him around again, and his gaze landed on centre stage where silver-topped figure stood straight-postured. His extremities started to move and words began pouring from his mouth, but Will registered nothing other than the distance between his father's feet and the end of the stage. At that distance...

"Oh no. I have to stand that far up?!"

"Don't think about that," whispered Morgan. Too late; that was exactly where Will's mind pointed. At that distance, someone would be able to see, very clearly, the flyaways in his hair.

_I can hang back_, he thought. _I'm younger. I'm new. They won't think too much of it_.

_Or will they?_

"Pretend their all cats."

"Cats judge."

"Dogs. Hundreds and hundreds of chihuahuas."

"–So, I'm going to keep this short," Tony continued, only now William heard every syllable and his mind was screaming to 'keep it long' and 'make it longer!'. "Who here is a parent? Show of hands." Several people in the audience, plus the one on stage, raised their hands. Will, without conscious awareness, did too.

"You're a parent?" Morgan whispered.

"What?" he whispered back. Instead of replying, he felt her hand on his forearm pushing it back down to the side. "Oh. Yeah. I'm nervous."

"I can tell."

The speech continued before their eyes.

"Every parent has a worry about where their kids are going. But it's not up to us. It's not even about us. This year's expo is about the kids, or should I say, the future." Tony stepped to the side, took a breath, and continued. "Last time I did this, I brought you a message from the past. While inspiring, there's a reason why humanity has moved on from candles and wood carriages. Today, I bring you a message from the future. My son, William Stark."

The entire stadium erupted into applause and cheers. Tony didn't move to drink it in or even bow. He stood perfectly still with an arm extended towards the offstage, the offstage where Will stood. Their eyes locked and so did Will's feet. Locked to the floor. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't think. All he could see was Tony, and all which ran through his mind was, _oh holy heckin' hell, please help._

Morgan clapped a hand behind his shoulder. "You're gonna kill it," she boosted. With a grin, she pushed Will forward.

His feet unfroze. He walked straight out from between the curtains.

_Slap, slap, slap_. Dress shoes against the stage, not quite drowned by the cheers.

In, he breathed. Out, he breathed. In, again. Out, again.

_I'm fine. See? They love me._

He managed a smile and a stiff wave.

_So far..._

His smile faltered some.

Dad didn't seem to get any closer. He stood there with a perfect poise, an arm still extended out, a grin upon his lips. _No, wait_– he was coming closer. He was walking towards Will. _Oh, no_. Will wasn't moving fast enough! He spurred himself on. The distance between them now fell away rapidly. Too fast! He should have taken his time. He should have picked a pace. _Is it too late? _He crashed into a solid body – Dad! – and the answer became obvious. Yes, it was too late. He made his choice. He had to deal with the consequences. How bad were the consequences if he sprinted to the other end of the stage and never spoke a word?

Tony wrapped his arms around the kid's shoulders, turning an accidental crash into a purposeful hug. _Damn, he's good_. Will responded with an embrace of his own.

All too soon, Dad was pulling out of the hug. He stopped halfway.

"Proud of you, kiddo," said Dad, audible enough for only the two of them to hear.

Will frowned. "Why?"

"Because," he started only to glance away and blink.

If he had to think like that... Will swallowed. His eyes felt heavier the more he blinked. If Dad had to think so hard about this one question, it just proved everything, didn't it? Will hadn't done anything worth being proud of. Sure, he graduated the youngest of his class, but Morgan already did that. He hadn't won any prize, invented anything fantastic, or even developed something worth looking at. Morgan had her life planned out. Will dropped out of Harvard.

"Because you're my kid. You're the introductory speaker. And I _know_ you are going to nail it."

When Will's silence continued for several stunned seconds, Dad proceeded:

"I'm proud of you."

Tearing his gaze down from his father's face, Will shoved three fingers under his glasses to wipe at his eyes. It was too much: the exhilaration of the crowd, the thump of his own heartbeat, and the confidence surging from Tony's hands into his son's arms. Will knew that the next moment he'd have to himself would be a complete mess, and he hoped the scene of the inevitable emotional meltdown would be the privacy of his bedroom basking under the light of his solar system hologram night-light. Until then, he had a speech to do and three people counting on him to nail. His Dad, his sister, and the CEO of Stark Industries, his mother.

Dad turned to the audience again – an arm wrapped around his son's shoulders – and called out his last words.

"You'll love him."

He walked off in the very direction Will came from. Will watching his receding back and deeply inhaled.

_I can do this_, he thought.

The words flowed out of him as easy as a coursing river carries a leaf:

"So. We all want to change the world."

* * *

_Stay tuned in the coming year, as there will be plenty of stories surrounding Will, Morgan, and some of their friends: Riana Williams-Rhodes, Rebecca Hogan, Michael Hogan, and more!_


End file.
